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LITTLE BROWN MAID 
[page 55] 



Trade Wind Lyrics 

of 

Aloha Land 

And Other Verses 
By Herbert 7A. Ayres 



Honolulu, T. H. 

The Hawaiian Gazette Co., Ltd. 

1916 



,f 



Copyright, 1916 
By Herbert M. Ayres 



,..#£. 



'CI.A453243 



CEC 26 1916 
V 



ALOHA! 

Over the seas of sunset, over the water blue, 
Come to Hawaii's golden isles — we long to ivelcome you; 
For you the fairest garlands, for you the sweetest song, 
For you the best aloha, are waiting — come along! 



THERE'S ALWAYS A GIRL AT HOME. 

Ere ever the dawn of that fatal morn in the days when 

the world began, 
The way of a man with a maid has held, and the way 

of a maid with a man ; 
There's little of good in a lonely life, and if at the Pole 

or the Line, 
Love's subtle lure will aye endure, wherever two bright 

eyes shine. 

Wherever tivo bright eyes shine, 
In the paths that a man may roam — 

But for every maid in the palm-trees' shade 
There's ahvays a girl at home. 

There's nothing of good in a lonely life, when the heart 

cries out in pain, 
And cards and revel, drink and the devil, have made life's 

fight seem vain ; 
'Tis then that the color-line grows faint and the lamp 

of love burns true 
In big brown eyes under tropic skies, as it did in Her 

eyes so blue. 

As it did in her eyes of blue, 

When she sat in the Devon gloom — 

For every match 'neath a nipa thatch 
There's ahvays a girl at home. 

"East is East and West is West, and never the twain 

shall meet" — 
Save in far corners of the earth, in snow or shimmering 

heat; 
Atoll and igloo, palm and pine, witness the errant love 
Of strong men far from their kinsmen's ken, who round 

the world must rove. 

Strong hearts who love to rove 

O'er prairie, berg and foam — 
For each szveethcart in a foreign part 

There's ahvays a girl at home. 



SAINT PATRICK'S DAY. 

Oh, it's half a weary world away to Queenstown ! 

Where first you smell the land-breeze, mem'ry-sweet ; 
Where the Irish girls and boys, with their bargains and 
their noise, 

Are the first of homeland's beings you to greet. 
It's many a dreary year since first I journeyed 

From Dromara, 'cross Atlantic's heaving way, 
And I'm dreaming of blue eyes, as clear as tropic skies, 

For tomorrow is Saint Patrick's Day. 

On a palm-girt shore I'm longing for Dromara — 

Dromara with the mist upon the hills, 
Where kindly hearts and true live and love a lifetime 
through, 

Though their tale in Ireland's book no chapter fills. 
Here, the sun is always shining, and the flowers 

Bloom as brightly in December as in May, 
Still, I'd give my little hoard just to tread old Ireland's 
sward, 

For tomorrow is Saint Patrick's Day. 

Sure, there're finer things than endless summer weather! 

And eyes of brown can't match with eyes of blue — 
Oh, eager is the yearning just to smell the peat fire burn- 
ing, 

And to see the shamrocks glisten in the dew ! 
They say this is a place to make a fortune, 

That freedom here has undisputed sway, 
But I'm lonely here tonight, 'neath the low stars, golden- 
bright, 

For tomorrow is Saint Patrick's Day. 



WHEN TWILIGHT FALLS. 

Behind the shadowland of Waianae, 

The daylight hurries down night's dusky halls, 

And palms stand silhouetted 'gainst the sky, 
When twilight falls. 

Out steal the stars, up floats the ripe full moon, 
Great moths go ghostly by white-blossomed walls, 

And wild reef voices stilled are to a croon, 
When twilight falls. 



HIS LETTER. 

I'm thinking of you today, little girl — 

Far away in 'Frisco town, 
Over the harbor the mist wraiths whirl, 

And the sun is sinking down — 
Sinking to rest like a blood-red ball 

In the leaden, lowering west, 
And I long for the violet afterglow 

O'er the land that I love the best. 

It's lonesome here and it's cold and drear 

When night comes tumbling down, 
And hearts aren't kind like the ones behind, 

And fair brows wear care's frown ; 
I'd give all the glare of Market street, 

If I again might see 
The fishers' torches in the dark, 

Off drowsy Waikiki. 

Full many a face confronts me here 

With features passing fair, 
And many a voice in mirth and song 

Rings out the heart to cheer ; 
But I miss the languorous, loving glow 

Of your laughing eyes so brown, 
And the luring lilt of the island songs, 

With the moonlight streaming down. 

The flowers here are wondrous fair, 

And the roses passing sweet, 
But they strangers are to the wanderer 

From the land of love's retreat ; 
And yet, when the breeze comes stealing in 

From the sea to my little room, 
I think I can smell the melia's breath 

And the oleander's bloom. 

I'm coming back — I've had enough 

Of life by the Golden Gate, 
I'm sick of the fog, and barrenness 

Of hearts in this distant state ; 
And I long for you and the waters blue — 

For the amethyst and pearl 
Of Hawaii's skies, and your tender eyes, 

So I'm coming back, little girl. 



THE SONG OF THE RETURNING. 

You ask us why we came back and you shake your head 
in sorrow, 
You tell us life down here is mighty blue, 
We'll give you a few reasons, if your patience we may 
borrow, 
As to why we left the old land for the new : 

We were restless, we were weary and the pleasures we 
had tasted, 
Brought a longing — bitter longing, in their train, 
Our work went all unfinished — oh, the hours that we 
wasted, 
As we sat and watched the past come back again ! 

The old sweet scenes returned to us, it seemed that we 
were dreaming, 
We saw again the mountains, hazed in blue, 
We heard soft voices calling and were happy in the 
seeming, 
And prayed, some day our vision might come true. 

Our lives were filled with phantoms and we heard the 
west wind sighing, 
Through the banyans when the dusk was on the land, 
While o'er night's other voices came the peacock's an- 
guished crying, 
And the murmur of the waves upon the sand. 

We listened to the story that the tide is ever telling, 

As it tarries for a moment by the reef ; 
We wandered 'neath the palm-trees in a land of incense 
smelling, 

Then we woke and went and sought our own relief. 

The town was hot and dusty and there seemed no time 
for singing 
(If we stayed we'd only have ourselves to blame), 
And we longed for moon-lit evenings and the guitar's 
lazy ringing, 
So we left our lives behind us and we came. 



OVERSEAS. 

"Overseas" — what wondrous pictures here are painted; 

How the ports of all the oceans come and go — 
See the mosques and domes and minarets and towers, 

Hear the meuzzin sounding in the sunset glow ; 
Mark the holy light through painted window streaming, 

Watch the traders swarm through market and bazaar, 
Listen to the temple bells, feel the thrall of spicy smells 

In a land where aeons only ages are ! 

"Overseas" — oh, watch the swiftly flying wedges 

Of the wild geese o'er the steaming tundra's face, 
Bear a hand with that canoe there at the portage, 

Ride the range beneath the stars in some far place ; 
Note the sheen cast by the moonlight ort the palm-fronds, 

Hear the peacocks screaming when the dusk has come ! 
Dreamy tokens all are these of the charm of "Overseas," 

When a fellow's ship comes in and he's back home. 

"Overseas" — the crowds they roar and surge down 
Broadway — 

Two miles of light, O Lord, two miles of light ! 
They've got the same old skookum chef at Sherry's, 

And Rector's has a swagger bill tonight; 
The Dover cliffs are just as white as ever — 

As white as blossom on the hawthorn trees, 
But the trek is endless back and we've lost the homeward 
track, 

And there's nothing: left but dreams of "Overseas." 



GOOD-BYE. 



There'll be a rainbow less to deck the mountains, 
The red lehua will not bloom so bright, 

The moon among the palms won't seem so friendly, 
With you away tonight. 

The noisy town will be so very lonely, 

The flowers that you loved will droop forlorn, 

The wind for you will sadly go a-questing, 
When you are gone. 

The friends you chose to hold in golden bondage, 
The old, sweet joy of life will sorely lack, 

The sun for them won't shine again so brightly, 
Till you come back. 



'FRISCO BOUND. 

The palm-trees He behind us, 

The flying-fish have gone, 
There's a new tang in the sea-breeze 

And less ardor in the sun. 
Ahead is San Francisco, 

Behind, the Isles of Love, 
And backward, ever backward, 

Our thoughts conspire to rove. 

Last night to lang'rous music 

We danced beneath the moon, 
As we danced in recent revels 

By the Waikiki lagoon ; 
But you missed a nameless something 

That you learned to love so well, 
And my thoughts were restless, restless, 

As the long Pacific swell. 

We're going, some for business, 

Some for pleasure, some for — well, 
Just because we must be going, 

Though the reason's hard to tell ; 
But as knots stretch out behind us 

And we near the farther land, 
There's a tugging at the heart-strings 

You and I but understand. 



JACARANDA. 

Blue are your clusters as the tint upon 

That welcome bird that heralds eastern spring. 
And which, long-watched, when seen upon the wing 

Is earnest of long strife with Winter won — 

Of greening trees, of days joy-flecked with sun, 
Whereon pink blossoms blow and robins sing, 
And shy eyes bolder grow, and Love is king, 

And destiny like silken thread is spun. 

A haze of blue beside the avenue, 

Your magic bids the sad heart be of cheer, 

While on dull eyes burst instant and anew 
The splendid banners of the rainbow year : 

The sweet ohae, the flame-trees' red review, 
And boughs that like new-minted gold appear. 

10 



THE PURPLE ISLANDS. 

Down to my purple islands set in a Southern sea, 
My thoughts today go winging from long captivity — 
Nowhere is such peace given, nowhere dwells such con- 
tent, 
As there where the moon shines ripely and stars from 
heaven are bent. 

On those far dazzling beaches where ocean's breeze roves 

free, 
And crested rollers stayless win from the open sea, 
I live through a world's adventure — scheming and love 

and chance, 
Born of the magic potion in the flagon of Romance 

Under the palms at moonlight — oh, sheen on the fronds 

wind-frayed ! 
My being's nameless longing thrills to the quickening 

trade, 
And I roam wild, lawlorn atolls that a tropic sun beats on, 
Or drown my soul in kazva at the home of Apia John. 

Feasting, lusting and fighting are mine with their joy and 

pain — 
All that's been done or writ of in a savage chief's domain ; 
Beachcomber, preacher, trader, Levuka, Falesa, 
Pass through my brain at the* wind's 'hest and the blink 

of a nodding star. 

What is the lure of my islands ? The sweep of the crested 
wave, 

The lone goat's cry on the palis, the chieftain's ghost- 
watched cave, 

A soft-eyed maiden singing a song of love and grief, 

The jasmined breath of morning, the voices of the reef. 



11 



THE BUCCANEERS. 

"The report that the U. S. Bevenue Cutter Keokuk is bring- 
ing to Honolulu fifteen pirates captured 1 on South Sea Islands, 
proved to be unfounded." — Daily paper. 

Fifteen pirates from the South Sea atolls — 

How it smacks of the roving days ! 
Of buried gold and of human chattels, 

Of "Long John" Silver and "Bully" Hayes. 
Wine and gold and a world of kisses, 

Ha ! ha ! ha ! Would you like them — you ? 
A driftwood fire where the flood tide hisses — 

The pearl-veiled sea when the day is new. 

Hozv it comes home to us, me and you ! 
The kazua-bozvl and the scorching kisses — 
The pearl-veiled sea when the day is new. 

Broken men from the sun-kissed Gilberts — 

Blood-steeped men from the Phoenix Isles, 
Are naught to us as we crack our filberts 

And sip our port where our comfort smiles. 
And yet, when between the stupid dances 

We walk with our loves by the still lagoon, 
We tire of the sidelong, dove-like glances, 

And we hate the peace of the soft tide's croon. 

Always at last beneath the moon 
We dream of the heathen South Sea dances, 
While the bright lights flash in the still lagoon. 

Dusky belles and old Scotch traders, 

Hawkbill turtle and pearl-shell hoard, 
Blackbird schooners and brown-skinned raiders, 

The warning shot from the watch on board. 
Wild ! Well, what of it ? Wrong ! I grant you, 

Still men in those old dead days were men, 
And I think you can feel a longing, can't you, 

To have lived in those times beyond your ken? 

Fifteen blood-stained, broken men! 
It would be a very great thing, I grant you, 
To trade for a cutlass a scratching pen. 

12 



THE PIRATES. 

(A Local Celebration.) 

Half a hundred of proper pirates 

Striking awe to the heart of Gloom — 
Silver buckles and tarry blouses, 

(Yo, heave-o, lads, give 'em room!) 
Did you step out of some old-world story, 

With your sable flag and your fearsome glee? 
Surely your kith 'round the rum cask quarreled, 

In some snug haven of Caribbee. 

Timely you came, with the joy bells ringing, 

Bidding Care's somber legions flee : 
With your old fierce yell and your trusty muskets 

Quickly from bondage you set us free. 
Flint and Teach and Hook and Silver, 

And blind man Pew — they were surely there 
When the great gun boomed and scattered fragments 

Were all that remained of Villain Care. 

Yours is our city and all that's in it ; 

Golden doubloons and maidens fair, 
If for a while you'll only tarry — 

If you'll but anchor your black craft here. 
Ours is an island of rainbow beauty, 

Of blossoms and vines and of golden sand, 
And we love you, Timothy Hook and Silver, 

And all the rest of your reckless band. 

For seven full days as hosts we'll prove us, 

With songs and dancing and good hot grog ; 
All for the service which you have wrought us — 

Each and every tarred sea-dog. 
Soon the white cross-bones you'll hoist above you 

And sail away to some harbor far, 
Of Caribbee, where beneath the palm-trees 

A-waiting, your negro lasses are. 



13 



PEARL OF THE SEA. 

Pearl of the Sea, I am longing for you, 
Queen of the beaches, fair heart's desire; 

In your eyes the light of the island dawning — 
The flash of the sunset's fire. 

Where you are waiting, O island sweetheart ! 

Do the trading schooners go drifting by 
As they did of old, with their shell and copra — 

White specks 'gainst the southern sky? 

Do the seabirds wheel as once they used to, 
Over the depths of a crystal sea? 

Do the robber-crabs loot the plumy palm-trees 
On the isle where we wandered free? 

I would return to the wild brown people, 
To the pagan pleasures I used to know, 

To Pearl of the Sea who is waiting for me 
Down where the pearl boats go. 

Today the wind from the southward blowing, 
Wafts me rare music that used to thrill, 

And the heady scent of great creamy blossoms— 
O'ersweet when the night is still. 

Carry me quickly, O sails most laggard ! 

Back to my kingdom of love and ease, 
To the truest heart in the fairest garden 

In a dreamland of summer seas. 



14 



AWAY. 

I stand on a far-off seashore and gaze o'er the waters blue, 
I picture a land of sunshine and think all the time of you ; 
The east wind is blowing so coldly, the moorland is wet 

and drear, 
And I'd give all I've got in the world just to be in Hawaii 

dear. 

I'm thinking of Hawaii always, thinking of the moon so 

low, 
Thinking of the fern-fringed foot-paths where once we 

used to go; 
I see the poincianas* flaming and the roses by the beaten 

track, 
The golden-shower holds out wealth in plenty and I'm 

longing to go back. 

The heart glows warm in the homeland, but the sun is 

always chill, 
And there's never a smile on the ocean and never a laugh 

in the rill; 
The peewees cry loud o'er the moorland but their cry is 

the note of despair, 
And there's no more balm in the heather nor wine in the 

mountain air. 

I'm. longing for Hawaii always, pining for the moonlit 
palms, 

Dreaming of the fisher's torches when night lias donned 
her cliarms; 

The may-bloom is rarely fragrant and the wild rose pass- 
ing fair, 

But oh, for the sweet wild ginger, that garlands Hawaii 
dear! 



15 



PLUMERIA. 

Of all the blooms of all the lands wherein my feet have 
wandered, 
There's one that holds me in its spell and will not let 
me free: 
Its charm brings joy and sadness, and all passion's subtle 
madness 
Lurks in the nectared blossoms of the sweet plu- 
meria tree. 

The violet breathes of English lanes, what time the 
cuckoo's calling, 
The yellow poppy tempts me back to California's strand, 
But the melia's bright stars bind me and I leave the past 
behind me 
And stay a willing prisoner in dear plumeria land. 

When the golden moon is floating just above the plumy 
palm-tops, 
And fraught with nameless longing is the murmur of 
the sea, 
Spilt is every creamy chalice and through hovel and 
through palace 
A-questing goes the fragrance of the pale plumeria 
tree. 

You will know when it has found you, you will feel its 
witchery round you, 
And will cast aside the common things to wander hand 
in hand 
With Fancy, while beside you, to unguessed delights to 
guide you, 
Will walk a beauteous damosel of sweet plumeria 
land. 

The moon will shine for you alone, the world be filled 
with music — 
Upon your lips a strange new song will struggle to be 
free, 
And lured by merry laughter you will madly follow after, 
Until the gray dawn lifts night's veil from off the sleep- 
ing sea. 

The peach-blow wakens memories of orchards by the 
Whangpu, 

Wistaria spells paradise set in an inland sea. 
But in my heart there's room only for a single bloom — 

The starry petals on the boughs of the plumeria tree. 

16 



THE OLD HAU-TREE LANAI. 

The dawn behind the mountain tops send forth its herald 

glow, 
A pearly-misted ocean wakes to work of ebb and flow ; 
From palm and pine the mynah-birds in drowsy sequence 

fly, 

And leaves lisp to the trade-wind on the old /jaw-tree 
lanai. 

'Tis noon ; the white sands dazzle and the glare is on the 

sea, 
The mynah-birds are silent in the drowsing cocoa-tree; 
Abroad the day's hot burden — above a furnace sky, 
But blessed peace and coolness on the old hau-tvee lanai. 

The sky hangs heavy-fringed and the harbor lights burn 

bright, 
The silver, dancing waters hold the moon's reflected light ; 
No sound disturbs the stillness save a distant night-bird's 

cry, 
And phantoms flit untroubled through the old hau-tree 

lanai. 



MELIA. 



Your creamy chalices rare fragrance spill, 

Which scents the day from dawn 'till tropic night; 
Your faded blossoms cause the eyes to fill 

At memory of some long-lost delight. 

In regions overseas where winter's clime 
Makes far Hawaii seem a golden dream, 

They think of you and endless summertime, 
While overhead cold constellations stream. 

Your clusters are the port of wand'ring bees, 
You deck with garlands every festal guest, 

And set amid a host of sombre trees 

Your presence cheers each hallowed Place of Rest. 

Oh, you are wondrous fair in morning time ! 

And noontide does not see your beauty pass ; 
E'en your spent petals conjure that old rhyme 

Of Omar's bloom "star-scattered in the grass." 

17 



THE KAMANI TREE. 

Among the gaily-dizened trees of spring, 
The broad kamani rears its sombre head, 

And the wayfarer, passing by, is filled 
With thoughts of things long dead — 

With thoughts of long dead things, and present joys 
Fated to march in sorrow's train too soon — 

Of joyless, rain-soaked days, and nights ahead 
Ulncheered by friendly moon. 

The golden-shower flaunts its robe of gold, 
The poinciana flames the road beside, 

And every other tree oblation makes 
Unto the year's young pride. 

All save the dark kamani which arrays 

Itself in no habiliment of spring, 
Casting instead its russet leaves abroad 

While April's voices sing. 

Oh, misanthrope of trees ! what old god's curse 
Torments you through the happy halcyon days? 

Or would you teach us that as fades the grass 
Wither life's laurel sprays? 



GOLDENROD. 

The spider lily's dead, the ginger's faded, 
And kindred blooms no longer deck the sod; 

But still in many a sweet Hawaiian garden 
Blossoms the goldenrod. 

What memories the yellow bloom engenders ! 

What thoughts of days in a far-distant clime ! 
Of frost-breath silvering the prairie grasses, 

Of mainland autumn time. 

It brings to ear the threshing engine's murmur, 

The whir of brown birds where the corn shocks stand ; 

And, to the eye, the wedge of wild geese flying 
From grip of Winter's hand. 

Flag of the legioned ranks of sun-browned grasses, 
Old friend who cheered the roadside way of yore ; 

Do you not, when the velvet breeze caresses, 
Pine for the norther's roar? 

18 



VIOLETS. 

Just a breath of violets on a street in Honolulu, 

Tied to deck a lithesome native belle, 
Makes the year turn back again, puts us on the rack 
again, 

As we listen to the tales they tell. 

Violets, violets, Naples' own dear violets, 

Once again in Fashion's train our errant footsteps 
stray; 
Tonic in the keen spring air, pleasure in the atmosphere, 

Life pulsating everywhere along the Great White Way. 

Just a sight of violets in a little florist's window, 
Blooms from Tantalus so fresh and fair, 

Brings dead loves to life again, writhe we 'neath their 
knife again — 
We would buy but haven't heart to wear. 

Violets, violets, a penny for a bunch of 'em 

{Hear the cabs a-splashing through a sea of London 
mud), 
The croivds in all the halls are out, Leicester Square's a 
roundabout — 
Coals of Hell, what torture in a simple violet bud! 



NIGHTFALL. 



The trade-wind softer blows through palm and pine, 

The spider-lily casts its scent abroad, 
A great ship's hull on the horizon's line 

Wantons in gold the sun's last rays afford. 

Harshly the heron cries athwart the gloom, 
The lights of home peep out near and afar, 

And, having closed the flow'rs that daytime bloom, 
A Hand pins back night's curtain with a star. 



19 



THE HUAPALA VINE. 

When the 1 rainy season's over and the days are growing 
longer, 
When the young year's breath still whips the leaves 
and stirs the blood like wine, 
Comes a trumpet- fashioned flower to the long lanai's 
green bower, 
Bourgeons forth the flaming orange of the huapala 
vine. 

Ages gone, in old Hawaii, ere the gods were all for- 
gotten, 
And life seemed but a little space in which to laugh 
and love, 
The god of love and kisses meted out his sovereign 
blisses 
To man and maiden kneeling at his huapala grove. 

So, today, long lifetimes after that dead age of love and 
laughter, 
The trumpet-flower speaks of love and all the joys 
to be; 
And youth and maiden sitting 'neath its shade, when 
moths are flitting. 
Receive that old god's blessing, by its good gramarye. 

Soon will come the golden-shower and the blazing 
poinciana, 
And all the summer's tendrils which around the heart 
entwine — 
But there'll be a missing sweetness, and a nameless in- 
completeness 
Will bring to mind the blooming of the huapala vine. 



20 



THE MYNAH. 

Come, bold brown bird, and strut for me awhile 
Across the velvet carpet of the lawn — 

Old chatterbox whose scolding makes me smile 
At any hour other than the dawn. 

Full satisfied are you with this old world, 
Content in cold or heat, in rain or shine — 

The monarch of the grass-world, dew-empearled, 
An optimist, and as such, friend of mine. 

There's mischief often in your quick, bright eye 
Which much belies that monkish robe of brown ; 

You're now a priest, and now a robber sly, 
And time again a laughing, mocking clown. 

Though brought to us from a far-distant land 
Of breeze-borne spice and tinkling temple bells, 

Your wizard note recalls far Albion's strand, 
The blackbird's fluting and the sweet May smells. 

Begone, sleek rogue, abroad the fat worm crawls, 
And tiny mynahs clamor in yon tree ; 

The hour of supper makes insistent calls 
To you, blithe vagabond, as well as me. 



THE COCOA PALM. 

High o'er the homes of the haole, 

Kingly of mein, stand they, 
Last of the native landmarks — 

Born of a prouder day ; 
Keeping their faithful vigil 

O'er fortunes overcast, 
Bowing their heads in mem'ry 

Of glories of the past. 

They weathered the darkling kona 

That sought their strength to tax, 
Only to fall ignobly 

Under the white man's axe ; 
And the winds that haunt the mountains, 

And the moon that loves the sea, 
Alone will know the story 

Of days that used to be. 



21 



THE DREAMING LADY. 

In a quaint old-fashioned garden, by a city's busy high- 
way, 
Walks a little, queenly lady, as the sun sinks in the 
west — 
'Mid a maze of palms and bamboo, green and separate 
and shady; 
Dreaming of a broken sceptre and a vanished state- 
liness. 

The trade-wind stirs the palm-fronds, and they whisper 

of a kingdom — 

Of royal days in palaces when hers was to command ; 

Across the street a church bell rings, and all her sorrow's 

chalices 

Well up to overflowing at the mocking strokes' demand. 

The stars peep out, she lingers there — the night flowers 
spill their incense, 
And bats go hawking, where by day there toiled a 
myriad bees ; 
A band — her band — a stone's throw off a merry strain is 
playing, 
The while she stands there heeding naught but flocking 
memories. 

Comes at last to that old garden where the pale plumerias 
cluster, 
An old Hawaiian woman with a heavy step and slow, 
And with reverent obeisance leads the dreaming lady 
homeward, 
Where from a bower of greenery a light burns dim and 
low. , 

In that quaint, old-fashioned garden a queen finds sanctu- 
ary, 
And though her crown's a bauble and her flag is torn 
apart, 
Forever will she reign supreme where e'er her tongue 
is spoken — 
Until the end the monarch of a dying nation's heart. 



22 



KAMEHAMEHA DAY. 

(June 11th.) 

On some bare hillside where the mynahs scream 
And the gray cactus endless vigil keeps, 

His empire passed, his power but a dream, 
Hid from all eyes, Kamehameha sleeps. 

Alive, he sought his people's lasting good, 
Foreseeing all the troublous years to be — 

Had they but weighed his words and understood, 
Might have been stemmed the tide of destiny. 

His realm is still the same, but 'neath the palms 
The haoles pass and sing the songs he sung, 

And barter in the marts, while alien arms 
Have to the breeze a stranger banner flung. 

Today, as loyal as in olden days, 

His remnant children keep his memory green, 
And at his statue each one homage pays 

And loving reverence to his kindred queen. 

For one short day let wave Hawaii's flag, 
For old time's sake the ancient meles sing, 

Let hearts be glad and regret's footsteps lag, 
In honor of Hawaii's kingliest king. 



IN ROTTEN ROW. 

In Rotten Row the poor ships lie — 
Pathetic hulks 'gainst the brazen sky ; 
Drowsing life through on a lazy tide, 
At anchor the vanquished vessels ride. 

The surf on the reef vents a hideous sneer 
At her ocean's victims resting there — 
Never again to plough the seas, 
Nor flaunt their flags in the bellying breeze. 

The good ships come and the good ships go 
With ne'er a salute for Rotten Row ; 
But the green weed loves their unkempt sides, 
And the sea-worm hither and thither glides. 

At night when the moon breaks through the clouds, 
It chases ghosts from the feeble shrouds, 
Of men who down to great seas did go 
With the broken tenants of Rotten Row. 

23 



SEA MAGIC. 

There fared one day to my valley 
Where the white gardenias grow, 

A sun-burned man of the ships that on 
Great waters come and go ; 

And he talked to me of the booming trades, 
Of the Polestar and the snow. 

Alone in the place of perfume 

I was looking out on the sea — 
The cloying breath of the waxen bloom 

Bore heavily on me, 
As I gazed back over the years and sought 

To peer into the To Be. 

Then came the man like the rain-wind 
To the earth heat-vexed and dry — 

The tang of the sea in his every word, 
The blue of the sea in his eye ; 

And he spake of the rest of the ocean's breast 
And the freedom of the sky. 

I will go out from my valley 

Where the pale gardenias blow ; 

The man of the sea has tempted me 
And his wonders I would know. 

And I yearn for the far horizon line 
And the land lights' fading glow. 



HALEAKALA. 

Great pendant stars bend from a violet sky, 

A low-swung moon makes shapeless shadows fall 
Upon the crater's floor, the wild goats call 

Across the void from palis where they lie 

A-tremblei at a distant wolfish cry. 

The haunting wind moans through dead Pele's hall- 
Last of the slaves of that dread goddess' thrall, 

Who temple made where aeons' ashes lie. 

Nor fern nor flower in this place hath life, 

Only the moon glints on the silver-sword, 

Perchance some pixy people's treasured hoard, 

Hid in a cicatrice of primal strife 

With nothing else of grace or beauty rife — 

And yet with everything in sweet accord. 

24 



THE LAST PORT. 

The old Melancthon's come to port, 

Has found her home at last, 
Nor more she'll brave the wind and wave, 

Her sailing days are past ; 
For forty years she rode the main — 

Her name for staunchness stood, 
Threading the maze of the ocean's ways, 

Just as a good ship should. 

And now outworn with stress and storm, 

Her time has come to rest, 
At peace to lie 'neath a tropic sky, 

On a summer ocean's breast ; 
No more she'll swing to the north tide's rip, 

Or pale at the blizzard's breath, 
Nor hear the knell of the sea-swung bell — • 

Grim warning note of Death. 

She'll drowse on the lazy harbor tide, 

And the surf will chant her praise, 
And sing a song of the past, long gone, 

With its splendid deeds and days ; 
The same pale stars will gaze on her 

In the scented languorous nights, 
As o'er Puget Sea kept company 

With the ghostly Northern Lights. 

The rainbow fish will nose her sides, 

The sea-moss clothe her strake, 
And a myriad sea-souls dwelling holes 

In her rotting timbers make ; 
But she'll take no heed of the shrouding weed 

Nor the borer in each bone — 
Just a hulk she'll wait that last estate, 

When the harbor claims its own. 



25 



BENEATH THE MOON. 

Fragrantly the pale plumeria breathes tonight, 

In the moonlight stand revealed its stars of white — 

Of the flower world, with magic, most bedight. 

Swift and sure its wondrous incense weaves a spell, 
Round the heart and brain of him who cannot tell 
How beneath its subtle magicry he fell. 

All he knows is that he's standing dreaming there, 

With the murmur of reef voices in his ear, 

While before his eyes, long vanished scenes appear. 

He sees Hawaiiland as once it used to be, 
He marks a joyous people, unrestrained, free, 
Thronging the beaches of their own beloved sea. 

Diseaseless forms, and faces void of sin and care, 
Play, work and love, and all in common share 
The blessing of a sunburst land, divinely fair. 

No poverty there is, no need to slave away, 

A lifetime toiling o'er a thorn-strewn, rocky way — 

A little work, a song, and then the close of day. 

The kindly earth a liberal largess gladly yields, 
The sea is almoner of well-stocked, leagueless fields, 
And for man's good each star its occult influence wields. 

Tall, supple forms own they who dwell within the land, 
With kingly step and mien they walk the palm-girt strand, 
And naught of creeds or policies they understand. 

A simple people they, of that departed day, 
Supremely happy in their work and in their play, 
For love alone they lived, and loving passed away. 

Times change, have changed, are changing all the while, 
No more Hawaii's sons are free from care and guile, 
Lost on their faces is the old perennial smile. 

One may not see them more as they were wont to be, 
But, when the moon shines o'er the sweet plumeria tree, 
Their spirits voice the reef and walk beside the s<:a. 

26 



THE GAZERS. 

Down by the wharves the children wander, 
Hand holding hand, when school is done; 

Gazing at the tall ships in the harbor, 
Gold-splashed and crimsoned by the sun. 

They've learned to love the ships by reading of them 

Ini old books and new about the sea, 
And the coal hulk seems to them a pirate vessel, 

Redolent with scents of Caribbee. 

The freighter is a great three-decker warship, 

The dredger is a rover of the main, 
And the loafers are Black Dogs and Long John Silvers, 

Come back from Treasure Island once again. 

The children stand and wonder on the dockhead, 
If the sampans carry store of buried gold, 

And if the sunburned sailors on the towboat 

Are heroes whose brave deeds have not been told. 

And as they gaze upon the harbor shipping, 
The children make a stern resolve to be, 

Each mother's son a very proper sailor, 
And search for gold and glory on the sea. 

Blue eyes and brown ; the Viking and the Maori, 
Both bold sea rovers stand and dream with you ; 

Oh, may God guide your lives' bark to safe haven, 
And send you fair adventures on the blue ! 



AUGUST. 



By the dust on the leaves by the roadside, 

By the blush on the prickly pear's face, 
By the loaded-down ohia tree's branches 

By the stillness of each forest place ; 
By the gray plover down by the foreshore, 

By the moon-washed nights magically clear, 
By the sense of a year come to fulness — 

Be certain that August is here. 

27 



THE DERELICT. 

He roams about the dusty wharves 

And gazes o'er the sea, 
His blue eyes dim, his body bent 

With foc'sle drudgery; 
A worn-out, weather-beaten hulk, 

He stands upon the quay. 

The rain and wind make sport of him, 
But the warm wind is his friend; 

It makes him think of Rio town 
Where pleasures never end, 

And of ship-mates who along with him 
Followed the Gulf Stream's trend. 

No man may know his history, 

His story none can tell, 
Only his eyes grow strangely keen 

At the sound of a ship's clear bell, 
Or as he watches the offing's craft 

Lurch to the sleek land-swell. 

No ship is his, no ship can be — 

His sailing days are past, 
He's just a derelict adrift 

Upon life's ocean vast ; 
God of all seamen, grant that he 

Win safe to port at last ! 



MOONLIGHT. 

Above, the ships of night their lights are burning, 
Shoreward, the whisp'ring tide is slow returning, 
And souls of flowers fill the night with yearning- 

Aloha oe! 

O'er all, the moon her silver charm is flinging, 
Afar, a guitar's lazy chords are ringing, 
And softly sweet a gentle voice is singing: 

"Aloha Oe." 

O beauteous spot ! in nature's bosom lying, 
O wondrous voice ! soft as the zephyr's sighing, 
O heart — sweetheart ! in living and dying — 

Aloha oe! 



28 



THE LEI. 

The sky unclouded smiled upon the day, 

The surf along the reef gleamed dazzling bright, 

And all the world except my heart was gay — 
Had never seemed the road so long and white. 

And as I went she pressed on me a lei — 

Unwilling sought my feet the beach-side road — 

Of flowers fair whose perfume cheered my way 
And eased the burden that was parting's load. 

Across Time's reaches I can hear her voice — 
Fraught is its mem'ry with all loss, all pain — 

Saying, as when she brought to me her choice 
Of bud and blossom: "Till we meet again !" 

We never met ; she sleeps beneath the hau 
That murmurs requiems by the sandy road — 

The trades blow just as brave but guavas now 
Strew creamy petals where she once abode. 

The lei is dry, the melia's fragrance shed — 
Across the years I look and long in vain — 

'Tis hanging with her picture by my bed 
But I shall love it — till we meet aefain. 



THE DAY'S END. 

When the dusty day is over, 

And its work been shirked or done ; 
When the west lies rose and golden 

On the pallette of the sun : 
There's a spot where peace and comfort 

Are ever lurking nigh — 
It's the cool, fern-trimmed recesses 

Of the palm-shaded lanai. 

When the evening star glows brighter, 

And the sky is strangely clear, 
And the night-breeze in the palm-fronds 

Hums a strange, seductive air ; 
When the hawk-moths 'mid the lilies 

Like downy fairies fly, 
It's heaven to sit a-dreaming 

On the shadowy, old lanai. 



29 



THE PALI ROAD. 

Behind, the town — ahead, the charm of distance, 
Blithely the wind calls down the Pali road; 

Maile and ginger, fernland and woodland 

Have charmed me by their magic from my town abode. 

Sweet is the wind's voice, luring me onward, 

Telling of freedom and forgetfulness from care — 

Onward, onward, the swift, white fleece clouds beckon, 
Over the Pali, and my heart knows never where. 

Scent of creamy blossom, maile and bracken, 

Breath of Pali breezes and the cool mist drifting 
down — 

Gladly I barter for the glare and restlessness 

That hover like a spectre o'er the house-hemmed town. 

Dusk comes and dark, the yellow moon arises — 

Bursting like a great balloon from ocean's empery ; 
Night comes up the Pali road, fraught with sweet sur- 
prises, 
And on its herald breeze is borne the murmur of the 
sea. 



A DULL DAY. 

Deserted are the wharves, the great fleet gone ; 

Far from the port the freighters thresh their way, 
And, where the white-walled troopships used to lie, 

A school of mullet play. 

The very streets today seem strangely lone, 

Thinned is the crowd that thronged the noisy marts, 

And, where men gather at the noontide hour, 
Nor jest nor laughter starts. 

Only old buildings seem again to live, 
Each in its place beside untrodden ways, 

And ancient men from Present's track step back. 
Into forgotten days. 



30 



LAHAINA. 

Green, sleepy village by a tropic sea, 

Do cocoa-palms still guard thy sandy shore ? 

And in thy nestling homesteads does content 
Abide secure as yore? 

Do lithe-limbed maidens in their native dance 
While the long, scented hours of night away? 

Do brown-skinned children in the gentle tide 
From morn till evening play? 

The earth-born scents which fire the brain like wine- 
Float they upon the night-wind o'er the bay ? 

Do lights of home illume thy mountain's side, 
As on a vanished day? 

Oh, thou wert very fair in years agone — 
The day-star of the bright Hawaiian sky ; 

Remain thy charms today inviolate, 
Through all the years that fly? 



KAHULUI BAY. 

Ever the waves roll shoreward, ever the plovers cry 
Each to each on the sand-hills, or over the lone dunes fly ; 
Ever the wind brings largess, filched from the salt sea- 
spray, 
And all life's cares evanish, by Kahului bay. 

The painted mountains beckon, where light and shadow 

hide, 
The white reef breathes a summons, born of the flushing 

tide ; 
But neither hill nor ocean have charms the heart that 

reach, 
Like those of the wind-swept sand-dunes by Kahului 

beach. 

No crowds disturb the stillness, no dwellings mar the 

scene — 
Naught but a fisher's cottage with its garden-patch of 

green; 
Afar two townships travail and hearts beat grave and 

gay, 

But care nor sorrow troubleth, by Kahului bay. 

31 



ON THE REEF. 

The little waves lap her bleaching bones, 

The great waves cast them wide, 
To lie as driftwood on the shore 

In the wake of the ebbing tide ; 
And the ghost of the bark haunts the peopled dark, 

And the wraiths of the men who died. 

The trades blow soft and the kona roars 
O'er the weed-grown, worm-drilled wreck, 

And schools of tiny fish disport 
In the place where was her deck — 

Of souls asleep five fathoms deep 
They take but little reck. 

The full moon shines on the palms and pines 

Which fringe the crescent shore, 
And lights the bulk of the inky hulk 

That sailed so proud before, 
From the Golden) Gate to the River Plate, 

And from Hull to Singapore. 

On the troubled reef her watch she'll keep 

Till she yields to the hungry sea, 
With only the shark and the sheering gull 

To keep her company; 
And never a hail from a passing sail 

To lighten her misery. 

The ships will come and ships will go, 

But none may bring relief, 
And the sailormen who pass her by 

Will feel good seamen's grief, 
And pray that they life's debt won't pay 

In a wreck on a coral reef. 



32 



KULIOUOU. 

At Kuliouou, Kuliouou, 
The wind blows fresh and the waters flow 
Swift and blue past the ruddy Head 
Which from far town the footsteps led. 

There's wine in the air and balm on the breeze 
And healing and health in the summer seas ; 
There's a song in the palms and the sermoned hills 
Talk to the soul, if one only wills. 

The road from the town is hard and long, 

But there's sweet surcease from the madding throng 

If to its end you'll only go — 

Where Puumai's scarred ridges show. 

It seems like the very end of the world — 
An oasis in a desert hurled ; 
But at night you may gaze at the moon-lit Gap 
And wonder what is beyond, perhap. 

At Kuliouou, Kuliouou, 
The town-shrunk spirit has chance to grow, 
And coolness and calm at the end of the road 
Ease the heart of its heavy load. 



FADED LEIS. 

Only a wreath of matte, 

Faded from green to gray, 
Yet it brings to mind the soughing wind 

In the palms by Hilo bay. 

Only a lei of hala, 

Its orange turned to brown, 
But it conjures back o'er mem'ry's track 

The charm of Hilo town : 

The roses by the roadside, 

The soft, caressing rain, 
The scented air, the hearts so rare 

That call one back again. 

A strand of withered maile, 

A faded hala lei — 
Oh, teardrops start at the twingeing dart 

Of the love of yesterday ! 

33 



THE GUNS. 

Twelve three-inch siege guns arrived by S. S. "Lux-line." — 
Daily paper. 

In their olive-colored cases they are lying 

On the wharf beneath the liner's towering side, 

And they voice a solemn warning which disturbs the 
rainbow morning 
And the painted peace of mountain and of tide. 

To and fro pass wayfarers all flower-laden, 
On the breeze is borne the music of a band, 

And a benison of love is o'er everything above — 
But the guns — how few who see and understand ! 

In the sides of old Leahi they'll be buried, 

And the memory of their coming soon will cease, 

Till there dawns a dreadful day when mankind goes forth 
to slay, 
In these isles of sweet contentedness and peace. 



THE ANGLER'S SONG 

There's an invitation in the booming surf, 

The water in the bay is blue, 
It's just the day to steal away — 

Away in the old canoe ; 
To steal away where the little channels hide 

In the strong tide's sea-born flow, 
And the coral heads loom yellowly 

In the weed-strung depths below. 

So put the pole in the old canoe, 
And with lines and bait aboard, 

We'll steer for a spot of which I know — 
The haunt of a silvery horde ; 

They're waiting for us in their channel home- 
To care the back-door show ; 

The tide will soon be falling — 

Can't you hear the white reef calling, 
Calling for you and me to go? 



34 



TARRY, BROTHER! 

What's the trouble, brother — are you weary? 
Seeking change of fortune or of clime, 

Here's the spot will make the past seem dreary- 
Place where little matters tide or time. 

Sun forever glinting on the ocean, 

Bees a-making music in the vine, 
Couldn't leave the land if I'd a notion — 

Loafing where the morning-glories twine. 

Brighter sky ne'er held the rainbow's splendor, 
Bluer seas don't flow beneath the sky, 

Never God made hearts more true and tender- 
Tarry brother, let the world go by ! 

Moonbeams softly dancing on the ocean, 
Melia's magic breath that thrills like wine, 

Good it is to drink content's sweet potion — 
Loafing where the morning-glories twine. 



KALEHUA. 



Kona's hills are distant — very far away ; 

It's a weary while to Hawaii's isle where the baby rain- 
bows play. 

It's far to the bread-fruit forest where the red-birds 
come and go, 

And the mountain-apple blossoms stain the ground like 
crimson snow. 

The clouds weep o'er the Kona hills as they used to long 

before, 
The bracken scents the hillside and the plover haunts the 

shore ; 
But in Kalehua's garden the weeds grow thick and rank, 
And the guavas choke a homestead set on a stream's green 

bank. 

Oh, lithesome Kalehua, with skin so golden-brown ! 
Where do you turn for shelter when the cold night rain 

comes down? 
Do the long thoughts and the salt tears keep company as 

they flow, 
When you sit in the blood-stained sunset with the ghosts 

of long ago ? 

35 



NANA. 

Nana, the lei-girl, sits on the pave by the side of the busy 

street, 
Her fingers are busy the livelong day, stringing her 

flowers sweet; 
From morning 'till night you may see her there, may 

purchase her fragrant wares — 
And the crowd goes along with an oath and a song, and 

nobody knows or cares. 

Nana, the lei-girl, in years long gone, had a sweetheart 

from over the sea, 
They loved for a while in Hawaiian style, and then to the 

Coast went he ; 
He'll never come back, but she's waiting for him in the 

sidewalk's dust and glare, 
For her heart beats true to a boy in blue who's in 'Frisco 

town somewhere. 

Nana oft wonders if he is dead or if he has just forgot 
The little brown girlie who loved him so in a humble 

grass-thatched cot; 
And if pagan prayers be powerful, and thoughts take 

guise of dreams, 
He sees o' nights old well-loved sights where the tropic 

moonlight streams ; 

He hears the plaint of a ghost guitar, he scents the beach 

fire's smoke, 
And perchance he wonders where Nana is, whose little 

heart he broke ; 
Maybe he sees her alone by her door in the sunset's 

hallowed glow, 
Or down by the sea where in noisy glee the torch-light 

fishers go. 

Nana, the lei-girl, sits on the pave, by the side of the 

busy street, 
Deftly her fingers ply all day, stringing her flowers sweet ; 
From morning 'till night you may see her there, unguess- 

ing her unshed tears, 
And pass in the throng with an oath or a song, for nobody 

knows or cares. 

36 



WEARING ON TO JUNE. 

Wearing on to June, wearing on to June, 

There's a note of summer fulness in the skylark's tune ; 

The nights are full of fragrance, the dawns are drenched 

with dew, 
And the golden-shower's blooming on the avenue. 

Wearing on to June, wearing on to June, 

The stars are growing restless for the honey-moon ; 

Day's duties take us walking through a garden wondrous 

fair — 
There's music in the tree-tops and incense in the air. 

Wearing on to June, wearing on to June, 

The year'll have passed its zenith and be waning, all too 

soon ; 
The beach and forest call us and we cannot choose but 

go- 
See, like beacon on yon hillside, the poinciana's glow ! 



HAWAII NEI. 

When the last good-bye has been spoken, 

And the eye been dried of its tears, 
When the ship from the wharf is stealing, 

With its freightage of hopes and fears — 
The scent of the flowers comes drifting, 

Gripping the heartstrings fast, 
And the strains of "Aloha Oe" 

Wake memories of the past. 

In the rush of a mainland city, 

A face in the surging throng, 
Or the spell of a blossom's fragrance, 

Or the words of a plaintive song — 
And the scenes that were loved are present, 

As once on a tropic day, 
And reborn the flowers and faces 

And songs of Hawaii nei. 

Wherever the foot may wander 

In passage around the earth, 
Wherever the ear be greeted 

With music or song or mirth, 
Wherever a garland's incense 

Or a bright eye glads the way, 
The heart will return to its old love — 

Hawaii — Hawaii nei. 

37 



ON THE KOOLAU SIDE. 

When you're through Nuuanu Valley and have reached 
the windy Pali, 

You have left all that belongs to town behind ; 
The way is smooth and shady for the gentleman and lady 

Who in thousand-dollar motor face the wind. 
It's a daily dress parade through the eucalyptus glade, 

And it's quite the proper thing to make the trip ; 
But you feel a different man as the Koolau plain you scan, 

While the roaring wind's lash stings you like a whip. 

When you've crossed the gusty Pali and along the down 
trail sally, 
You'll meet a different people on the road : 
Lei-crowned maidens in old stages, ancient men from 
history's pages, 
And a pack-train with bananas for a load. 
With a cheery hail they'll greet you, with a friendly smile 
they'll meet you, 
And they're not ashamed to let you know they're there ; 
Like the road, their hearts are wide, they who use the 
Koolau side, 
And you won't find better beings anywhere. 

The guavas by the road bear a tempting, golden load, 

The morning-glories glad the tired eye ; 
The rice-field's restful green and the distant ocean's sheen 

Are treasures for each one who passes by. 
It's a land of fair content and eternal wonderment : 

Massive headland, blue-hazed hills and shining beach; 
And the while you travel through joy is born and born 
anew, 

And the goal of heart's desire seems in reach. 

Across the great divide peace and plenty e'er abide, 

And care becomes a thing of yesterday ; 
There's healing in the air, the breeze bears perfume rare 

From garden-spots where laughing children play. 
On the long road by the sea it is good to wander free, 

Out of earshot of stern Duty's ceaseless call, 
And to rest, at close of day, by Kahana's fairy bay, 

Or Hauula, happiest hamlet of them all. 

38 



On the smiling Koolau side, the dawn, a rosy bride, 

Leaves the opal-misted ocean still a-dream ; 
Noon brings a languorous ease under spicy-scented trees 

Or drowsing by a rush-fringed, crystal stream. 
In the golden sunset glow, when the lamp of day swings 
low, 

And begins the ceaseless traverse of the stars, 
In this biding-place of peace all life's sorrows seem to 
cease 

And the soul soars free of all its prison bars. 



WON'T YOU COME? 

Are you tired of the buffets of winter? 

Do you shrink from the East wind's chill breath, 
In a land where the icicle's splinter 

Is token of darkness and death? 
Don't you long for the fragrance of flowers 

And the midsummer bee's drowsy hum? 
Aren't you dreaming of tropical bowers 

Where the cohorts of care never come ? 

All this and much more you'll discover 

In our very dear isles of the sea, 
If for once you'll imperson a rover 

And set sail for far Hawaii ; 
We'll greet you with laughter and garlands, 

We'll sing you a magical song 
Which shall make you forget your own far lands, 

And the place where you used to belong. 

The surf on the reef loud is calling, 

The cool trades are blowing for you, 
White lilies, when twilight is falling, 

With fragrance are scenting the dew ; 
The moon is a-glint and a-glisten 

In the frayed frond of each plumy palm, 
And for him who arightly can listen, 

Night's voices are potent of charm. 

Oh, come and dwell with us a season 

In our islands of laughter and love ! 
Each day will present a new reason 

For gladness that you chanced to rove ; 
Rich fruits and rare flowers are waiting — 

The air with delight is a-hum, 
And beauty and joy e'er are mating 

In Hawaii's fair isles — Won't you come ? 

39 



LEIS. 

When you come to us across the world of waters, 

We've a lei a-waiting just for you ; 
Pansies from a little cottage garden, 

Violets still glist'ning with the dew ; 
Tokens true are they of our aloha — 

Emblems of a welcome from our heart ; 
If you'll wear one for a while, joy will walk with you a 
mile, 

That's the magic of a lei — Hawaii's art. 

When you walk with us in divers pleasant places, 

There'll always be a lei at your command ; 
Maile with a wealth of charming graces, 

Hala from fair Hilo's distant strand, 
Jasmine with the scent of old-time bowers, 

Fragrant mokihana from Kauai ; 
Many an ill they can beguile — they're the solid of a 
smile, 

And dull care are very potent to defy. 

When you leave us for your home across the ocean, 

There'll be lets a-plenty just for you : 
Ilima's royal blossom, fragrant melia, 

And flowers of for-get-me-not's true blue ; 
Signals sad are they of sorrow's poignant parting, 

Memorials of ecstasy divine — 
They're the words sobbed through our tears, they're our 
kisses and our fears, 

They're everything that stands for auld lang syne. 



AFTER THE STORM. 

The mynah-birds are singing in the palm-fronds, 
The swollen streams take up the glad refrain, 

The sober hills with emerald are garnished, 

And verdure clothes the erstwhile dusty plain — 

The parched and thirsty places 

Speak the raindrops' kindly graces, 
And all the earth is iaughing, once again. 

The wild ilima blooms along the roadside — 
The coral road so lonely and so long, 

The poppy buds release their milky petals, 
In signal to the wildflowers' vagrant throng, 

And the west wind beareth tiding 

That has ceased the konds chiding, 

And earth receives the message with a song. 

40 



KAHAWANU. 

Kahawanu, child of nature, don your broad loulu papale 

And put a red hibiscus in your hair, 
Together let us wander to the white sand by the harbor, 

For, oh, the night is fair ! 

I'm tired of the city and the stately haole dwellings — 
Of the rabble, and the traffic and the noise, 

And I want to see the shimmer of the range lights on the 
water 
And listen to the tide among the buoys. 

In the city there is pleasure to be had for but the buying, 
And boon companions make a merry crew, 

But I long to meet a heart again that's honest as the 
dawning, 
And hear a voice that's ever ringing true. 

String a lei of sweet star-flowers for your tresses, Kaha- 
wanu, 
Bring along your blithe guitar with ribbons gay, 
The night was made for singing — hear across the distance 
ringing : 
"Anwe ke aloha e!" 



THE FOOT-PATH. 

There's a path across the ricefields — 
A hidden, humble foot-path, 

Where the many-hued lantana flaunts its blossoms all 
day long; 
But the wild bees tell its story 
To the wondering morning glory — 

The story of a lover and a song. 

There's a girl beyond the ricefields — 
A little, sun-kissed maiden, 

For her the rice-bird sings his song and weird, white 
poppies blow ; 
The stately palms above her 
Bend over her and love 1 her, 

And watch her wheresoever she may go. 

When the moon shines o'er the ricefields, 
Oftentimes my footsteps wander, 

Down that old- deserted foot-path to a little vine-clad 
home, 
Where a voice is softly singing 
To a guitar's lazy ringing, 

A song that says I need no farther roam. 

41 



A GRAY DAY 

Oh, great is the boon of a good, gray day, 
When the sun stays hid and the dusty way 
Is dustier made by the vagrant wind, 
Which tumbles the blossoms with touch unkind. 

There's a tang in the air and the pelting rain 
Tightens the keys of life's harp again, 
While the fresh trades' touch on the sun-kissed brow, 
Breathes of endeavor, forgot 'till now. 

The palms are glad when the storm-winds reign 
And tune their fronds to a new refrain ; 
The melia's soul, though flower-riven, 
Ne'er has its fragrance so freely given. 

Down by the sea, where the rollers go 
Roaring by with their manes of snow, 
There's no regret for the shrinking sun, 
From the weeping dawn 'till the day is done. 

Madly the sand down the white beach drives, 
Vainly the surf to the cliff-tops strives, 
And the fisherman sits by his nets alone — 
He knows not the sea today his own. 

A goodly thing is a winter's day 

In a land of rainbows and jeweled spray — 

As dear a thing, in the dust and heat, 

As a tear-dimmed eye in a! laughing street. 

Life that is living is not all smiles, 
A year of sun-gemmed days beguiles, 
But life's greatest pictures are painted gray 
And its lessons learned on a winter's day. 



42 



HAWAII. 

O magic isle, whose countenance doth change 

Oft as the varying fortune of a life — 
Now smiling, tender green, and now bemarred 

With cicatrice of elemental strife. 

The sea and sky, thy servants since the time 

When thou wert cast from out the waters' womb, 

Strive each to do most homage to their queen — 
Tradition's shrine and old Romance's tomb. 

No valleys fair as thine, where primal man, 
Wealthy in nature's largess, comes and goes, 

Untainted yet with golden greed, and free 
To sing and love a lifetime to a close. 

In long dead years the gods chose thee their home, 
And mighty monarchs fought for thee and died, 

Lifting glazed eyes to thine eternal snows, 
And passing then to rest on earth denied. 

The great, dread goddess Pele loved thee once, 
And though she sleeps a thousand years away, 

Sometimes, her rest disturbed, she wrathful turns 
And shakes red vials o'er the land today. 

The gods have left thee and the kings are dead ; 

Old order changeth as new customs come ; 
Yet art thou happy in that thou remain, 

Of beauty, story and of song the home. 



JULY. 

Each month its charm possesses — each day its own 

delights : 
The pearly peace of dawning, the wondrous sunset lights. 

July has wealth of riches, hydrangeas rarely blue, 
Wax-fashioned pale gardenias and sweet white ginger 
too. 

Like love that goes and comes no more, the year's twelve 

children fly, 
Oh, in our garden stay thy feet, nor leave us yet, July ! 

43 



WAITING FOR THE SPRING. 

Just a-waiting for the spring; 

Hungry for the fragrance of the sweet lauhala, 
Longing for the blossoms of the huapala, 

And to walk along the green plains where the skylarks 
sing. 

Just a-waiting for the spring; 

The coral-trees are budding and they won't be long, 
The palm-trees are a-tuning to the trade-wind's song, 

And already on the reef the breakers softer surges fling. 

Just a-waiting for the spring; 

The golden-shower's hiding hoard of wealth untold, 
The poinciana soon will kindle as of old, 

And to our arms fair nature all her gifts will bring. 

Just a-waiting for the spring; 

December's days were dreary and the rain fell fast, 
But now the winter's over and the sun's come out at last, 

And long hours of contentment come to us upon swift 
wing. 



THE HILLSIDE GRAVES. 

(Wailuku, Maui.) 

Poor little graves on the hillside, 

Hidden away in the sand, 
Where the gray p (minis cluster 

And the gaunt kiawes stand ; 
Do the bones in your depths rest easy 

As under the churchyard sod? 
Do they stir to the far sea's roaring 

Or the bell of the house of God? 

By day one sees but dead flowers 

And tinsel and trumpery gauds, 
Which the love of the ones who are living 

For those who have gone affords ; 
But by night, when the moonflowers blossom, 

And the cane-leaves lisp to the breeze, 
And the stars peep over the hill-crest, 

Where are prettier graves than these? 

44 



HAWAII TO JACK LONDON. 

From far-off California to Hawaii's rainbow land 

You journeyed, and you stayed with us a while; 
You learned to love our customs, and in turn you won 
our love — 
We'll ne'er forget the magic of your smile. 
You walked among us friendly and you shared our simple 
joys, 
Entranced you heard the ukuleles play, 
And while you pondered deeply o'er our legendry and 
lore, 
You did not scorn the tribute of a lei. 

We'd read your books and wondered just what kind of 
man you were, 
And we'd wished Hawaii's beauties you might see: 
The ginger in the moonlight and the bloom upon the 
palms, 
The rainbows, and the cascades falling free; 
And you came and stayed among us as in answer to our 
prayer, 
And you walked with our own people hand in hand, 
By day beside the seashore and by night beneath the 
palms, 
And we learned to love you and to understand. 

A spirit kindred to your own, at Vailima* found rest, 

Samoa's people wet his grave with tears, 
And to his shrine make pilgrimage, although his pen's 
been stilled 
And he's been sleeping through a score of years. 
Samoa claimed him as her own, and so would we claim 
you 
On whom the Master's mantle surely fell ; 
Oh, won't you come back quickly to Hawaii's longing 
arms, 
Mid loving hearts forevermore to dwell ! 



* Vailima — The road of loving hands. 

[NOTE. — The Associated Press news service to the Honolulu 
daily papers brought word, November 22d, 1916, of the unex- 
pected death of Jack London at his California ranch, Glen 
Ellen, the day previous. The press, running this edition of 
Trade Wind Lyrics, was stopped to allow the insertion of this 
note.] 

45 



KEALOHA. 

Let's go holoholo Kealoha, there's music and there's 

magic in the air; 
And bring along your little ukulele, for never has there 

been a night so fair! 
We do not know exactly where we're going, we'll sing 

together as we walk along : 
"Horn Kaua Wikiwiki" or the "When You Wore a Yellow 

Tulip" song. 

The moon is glinting bright upon the palm-fronds, there's 

a net of magic shadows on the grass ; 
The low-swung stars seem just like friendly neighbors, 

which light the path o'er which we have to pass. 
There's no one on the road but just us, sweetheart; for 

once we own the earth and air and sky, 
And the strumming of your tiny ukulele seems to fill the 

world as we go strolling by. 

You won't be feeling lonesome, Kealoha ; we've walked 

this way a thousand, thousand years — 
I don't suppose that you will quite remember the songs, 

the laughs, the loving and the tears ; 
And yet you say that it is very funny, but you think that 

you have walked with me before, 
Just thrumming on your little ukulele and singing the 

sweet melodies of yore. 

It's getting kind of chilly, Kealoha ; we've got a great big 
bunch of ginger flowers ; 

Just one more kiss before we part, huapala; the night and 
all its secrets, love, are ours. 

Tomorrow we must tread the old grim footpath, for- 
getting love and music, moon and song — 

We'll be very proper persons, Kealoha, when day with all 
its duties comes alongf. 



46 



A WET NIGHT. 

It was a gusty night, 

The moon blinked through the clouds, 
And the pelting rain drove fitfully, 

Drenching the theater crowds. 

The bar-room's lurid glare 

Was mirrored on the pave, 
And the red and greens of a druggist's shop 

Flushed the street with a color wave. 

The hacks slushed up and down, 

Churning a sea of mud — 
It might have been a London night 

On the hill of ancient Lud. 

The theater crowds dispersed, 

The garish lights went out, 
And a poor thing in a doorway stood, 

As wet as a sodden clout ; 

A poor, bedraggled thing 

With paint upon her cheek, 
Who furtively glanced up and down 

A friendly face to seek. 

It might have been the Strand, 
When falls November's blight — 

The chilling rain, the gusty wind, 
The poor thing in the night. 

One seemed to hear the roar 

Of cities all the chief, 
Although 'twas but the noisy tongues 

Of surf upon the reef. 



47 



THE F-4. 

(United States Submarine Lost Off Honolulu, March 25, 1915.) 

Sunlight, blithe hearts, a banner 

Blazoned with many a star ; 
A low-sunk rover stealing 

Over the harbor bar. 

Work in the dumb, dark spaces 

Shut from the common eye, 
Where the dolphin iridisces, 

And the long, lean shark drifts by. 

A sense of doom impending, 

A frantic rush to save — 
A crumpled hull in the sea-ooze, 

A fifty-fathom grave. 

A long, gray shape on the bottom 

Where the coral forests lie ; 
A ghostly form in a setting 

Of lapis lazuli. 

A film on the smiling surface, 

Hopes that refuse to die; 
And woeful women weeping 

Under the midnight sky. 

Stars through the warden waters 

Their radiance sending down, 
And soft winds ever crooning 

Of fadingless renown. 



DAWN. 



Panini cups are filled with dew. 

The morning-glory's blooming, 
The clouds are fleeing from the mountain-tops 

Where all night they've been looming. 
White poppies yield their petals pure 

To the kiss of the wand'ring breeze. 
The sun creeps up and the world's awake — 

Such is dawn in the tropic seas. 



48 



CHINATOWN. 

A thousand lights illume ihe crowded pave, 

Blanching the faces that the narrow sidewalks throng; 

The sights — the sounds ! it might be Foochow Road, 
Or some street in Hongkong. 

The Orient's spices mingle on the breeze 

With scents unspeakable, filched from the swelt'ring 
East; 
Of ties that bind the exile to his home, 

These nowise are the least. 

Quaint carvings deck the windows by the road, 
Rare wares, that tell a tale of centuries agone, 

Bespeak the notice of the passing crowd 
Which hurries ever on. 

Almost one sees the rickshaws on the streets — 
Almost one sees the sing-song girls pass gaily by, 

When the ear senses some shrill instrument, 
Or a street-vendor's cry. 

The cafes hold their throngs of silk-clad guests, 
The soup-shops echo with the coolie's ribaldry, 

And sometimes lanterns light the pilgrim's path 
When the New Year is nigh. 

The street-cars clang along a nearby street — 

Great cars, with dazzling gleam, dash ever up and 
down, 

While curious ones seek tokens of Cathay 
Amid a new world town. 

The lights die out, the poppy's drowsy breath 

Steals like a sick'ning blight o'er each deserted street, 

And night keeps watch o'er an enchanted spot 
Where past and future meet. 



49 



IN THE VALLEY. 

Dawn in the valley ; the sea-born breeze is roving 

Up and down the hillsides, driving night's faint breath ; 
away ; 
Slowly ope the blossoms of the frail, mauve morning- 
glory, 
Loud the mynahs greet the coming day. 

Noontide in the valley ; in taro-patch and ricefield, 

Weary workers 'neath the pendant sun from labors 
cease ; 
The wind sleeps on the hillsides where the pale kukuis 
fluttered — 
E'en the chattering mynahs are at peace. 

Nightfall in the valley ; round the ginger flowers 
Great moths circle phantomlike in ecstasy divine ; 

Through the moon-drenched bottom-lands it is good to 
wander 
And strange, sweet scents drown the brain like wine. 



UNDER THE COCOANUT TREE. 

Oh, 'tis pleasant to loaf when there's work to be done, 
To lie back and dream in the afternoon sun, 
Enjoying the peace that alone comes to one 
Under the cocoanut tree. 

The air is like wine, there's a lilt in the breeze 
As it ruffles the fronds of the cocoanut trees, 
Which wondrously blends with the hum of the bees, 
Under the cocoanut tree. 

Far away in the town with its chatter and din, 
Forgotten life's littleness, rancor and sin; 
The ragged blue mountains loom mystic and thin, 
Under the cocoanut tree. 

A rainbow is spreading its wealth at my feet, 
Someone is singing a song strangely sweet; 
Oh, the hours are golden, the hours are fleet! 
Under the cocoanut tree. 

Falls the twilight, the night bird flies out to the west, 
Great moths, of the star-flowers' nectar in quest, 
Flit fairylike through my dear garden of rest, 
Under the cocoanut tree. 

50 



THE MAGIC MUSIC. 

The merry old guitar goes tinkety-tunk beneath the great 

low-sailing moon — 
There's a lilt in its tune from which none is immune and 

someone will start dancing soon ; 
Not the dance that we knew in dear old County Down 

when the fiddler played half through the night, 
And each dainty colleen was a worshipful queen and each 

lad was a frolicsome wight ; 

Just a dance of the land where the cocoa-palms bow to the 

breeze by the glistening shore, 
By sweet Kealoha, bad luck pass her o'er and visit her 

grass-hut no more ; 
A dance and a cup and a kiss, maybe two ; oh, Kirkubbin 

is oceans away, 
But Michael McChree fiddles over the sea, and faith, but 

his music is gay ! 

And I dream 'neath the shade of the cocoanut-trees with 

the moon whimsies filtering through, 
That I'm back from the palms to a Kirkubbin farm and a 

colleen whose eyes are true blue ; 
And Michael McChree in his fiddlesome glee is scraping 

away like a slave, 
And the sun waxes high and the dancers trip by — old 

friends long since gone to the grave. 

And then the old guitar goes tinkety-tunk and I wake 
from my dream with a start, 

And a sibilant note from a brown, swelling throat finds 
response from the strings of my heart ; 

Old Mike and his fiddle have passed to their rest but some- 
times their magic seems near, 

And torments me back o'er the homeward-bound track to 
the place that I once held so dear. 



51 



THE WAY OF SUMMER. 

Oh, the lazy way of summer is a mighty lazy way ! 

It makes you feel like loafing and not working all the day ; 

The air and sky are tempters, and the cool road and the 

breeze 
Set you longing for the lark's song and the humming of 

the bees. 

The lazy way of summer is a mighty pleasant way, 
It leads o'er scented moorlands and across a smiling bay ; 
It whispers of green forests and of freedom on the sea, 
And it charms your footsteps to it, wherever you may be. 

The lazy way of summer hints of joy beyond belief, 
Of moonlight-deluged valleys and of surf upon the reef — 
Of violets on a mountainside, of sunset's golden calm, 
Of music, mirth and maidens beneath a drowsing palm. 

The lazy way of summer holds us helpless in its spell, 
The great outdoors seems heaven and the halls of com- 
merce hell ; 
The world's a waste of blossoms, all of nature is in tune 
To the praise of Maytime's graces and of rainbow- 
vestured June. 



SIGNS. 



The 'plaint of the waves on the barrier coral, 
White sails a-glint in the smiling bay, 

The trade-wind sighing among the palm fronds- 
These are true signs of Hawaii net. 

The scent of an unseen, midnight flower, 
The painted West at the close of day, 

A haunting song in the flooding moonlight — 
Tokens are these of Hawaii nei. 



52 



IN THE GARDEN. 

In the cool of the evening when the low, sweet whispers 
waken, 
When the lily's scent hangs heavy and the mango's 
leaves are still, 
It is pleasant in the garden where the llang-llang's cen- 
sers, shaken, 
Have spread a subtle fragrance which the dream hours 
seem to fill. 

The sunset wind roamed fresh and free among the melia 
flowers, 
And rustled all the canna stems and bent the mountain 
fern, 
But now a strange peace broodeth and all the starlit 
hours 
Seem bursting with a fulness which will flee at day's 
return. 

In the cool of the evening when the sky is scarred and 
olden, 
And the day, though passed, remembered and loved 
with sorrow still, 
In the borders of the garden there are sacred hours and 
golden, 
And all life's lesson lies unspread, that he may read 
who will. 



53 



VACATION TIME. 

There's no one at work in the office, there's no one you 

know on the street, 
And unless you keep busy with drinks that are fizzy, you 

suffer like hell from the heat, 
Bill and Jim are away in the mountains, Fred and Flo are 

a-dream by the sea, 
And you try not to shirk but the specter of work gibes and 

gibbers with devilish glee. 

Oh, the mountains are mystic and hazy, blue haze like the 

smoke of your pipe — 
They look so inviting, the time that you're writing, when 

you stop your wet brow to wipe ; 
And out of another dull window, as you pore o'er the 

ledger's lined leaf, 
You gaze on the charm of the cocoanut palm and the 

shimmering surf on the reef. 

The ginger's a-bloom by the roadside, the bracken is frag- 
rant and cool, 

The gray dove flies strong the rice-field along, the bass 
are a-feed in the pool. 

The trade-wind designedly whispers, and the sea and the 
earth and the sky 

Plot to woo one away from routine's tyrant sway — and 
you don't do much work in July. 



54 



LITTLE BROWN MAID. 

What are you dreaming of, little brown maid, 

As you stand with your face to the west? 
Don't you feel lonely and aren't you afraid, 

So far from the land you love best ? 
Where you are going to, eyes will be blue 

And skins just as fair as the day, 
But hearts will beat staunchly and lips speak as true 

As they did down by Hilo's bright bay. 

Wonders are waiting you, little brown maid, 

In the city you're going to see — 
There will be marvelous beauties displayed 

For you, and — well, maybe for me : 
Myriad mansions like palaces grand, 

Houses that reach to the sky — 
All the fine things of a magical land, 

Everything money can buy. 

How you will love it all, little brown maid ! 

Days will pass just like a dream — 
And yet, when a week in that city you've stayed, 

Tears from your soft eyes will stream, 
For your thoughts will fly back to a cocoanut grove, 

And when soft falls the pitying rain, 
You'll long for the breath of the hala you love, 

And you'll wish you were back home again. 



55 



THE LADY OF THE TWILIGHT. 

The lady of the twilight, she sitteth all alone 

In a place that was her palace in the rose-hued years 

agone ; 
Her dusky locks are round her, before her eyes the mist 
Of weary years of sadness, dimming their amethyst. 

The budding stars are rivaled by my lady's beauty rare, 
And sweeter is her presence than the jasmine in her hair; 
The bowing palms watch o'er her, and, when the shadows 

fall, 
For her to walk among them, the stately peacocks call. 

The lady of the twilight looks on the valley haze, 

And it seems to shroud the romance of years of love-lit 

days ; 
Maybe that she repineth, maybe that she repents 
And broken-hearted prayeth that Nemesis relents. 

Unceasingly she sigheth and love's wonder floods her eyes 
As she gazes wistful o'er the sea into the sunset skies, 
And all her deep soul's passion, and all its hope and fear 
Well out, a shattered secret, reflected in a tear. 

Dear lady of the twilight, so weak, yet very strong, 
Forgive the empty kisses, the word that did you wrong; 
And, 'mid the joys we treasure, the love we call our own, 
In hearts that still beat for you, your mem'ry we'll 
enthrone. 



56 



IN THE SOUTH SEAS. 

Diamond dawns and stained glass sunsets, 

Moon-stars a-bend from a violet sky, 
Beach fires' smoke and a song at twilight, 

Yesterday's mem'ries — and you and I. 

A kindly clime and a kindly people, 
And ours the bidding to work or play — 

The nights for love and the days for laughter, 
And roses growing along the way. 

A fadeless past and a hopeless future, 

A present the world's wealth could not buy, 

Fragrant and fraught with a rare nepenthe 
For such bruised beings as you and I. 

Faces that taunt and voices that torment, 

And never surcease from their haunting 1 spell ; 

A hut 'neath the palms and a grave by the sea-shore- 
A month of heaven, a year of hell. 



TROPIC MORNING. 

There's a pearly mist o'er the sleeping sea, 

There's a flush in the eastern sky, 
And harbor-bound, like azure ghosts 

The sampan fleet steals by. 
Naught save the sand-crabs stirs the beach, 

And silence like a dream, 
Born of the night, is only broke 

By the homing heron's scream. 

There's a laugh on the face of the wakened sea, 

There are fingers of gold in the sky, 
And laden with nets, to the fishing-grounds 

The sleek canoes glide by. 
Brown children play in the gleaming sand 

And down the beach, like pyres, 
Give to the breeze their woody smoke, 

The frond-fanned breakfast fires. 



57 



PILIKIA. 

There's a word you often hear — 

Pilikia. 
It bobs up most everywhere — 

Pilikia. 
The native knows it well, 
The pake its use can tell, 
And the Jap, when things aren't well, 
Says "Pilikial" 

If the pig has gone astray, 

It's pilikia. 
If unlucky goes the day, 

It's pilikia. 
Should the father lose his job, 
Or the child with toothache sob, 
Or a thief the henroost rob, 

It's pilikia ! 

The trouble's only brief 

In pilikia. 
Just a present, poignant grief 

Is pilikia; 
And the old Hawaiians say, 
In a careless kind of way, 
It's the same as night to day, 

Is pilikia. 

As the fleeting summer rain 

Is pilikia, 
And it breathes "Regrets are vain," 

Does pilikia; 
The thing is o'er and done, 
Dry your tears and have some fun, 
Bright will rise tomorrow's sun — 

Pau pilikia. 



58 



THE MULLET FISHER. 

All day he sits upon the old brown pier, 
Unheedful of the throngs that come and go ; 

His eyes glued on a bobbing wooden spear, 
Watchful for signal of a fish below. 

The liner and the transport pass him by, 

And bright blue sampans from the fishing-grounds, 

Claiming the scant attention of his eye — 
His ear is shut to all the harbor sounds. 

The whistles blow, the sun draws to the West, 
To the lone sky is born the evening star; 

Then the brown fisher from his task takes rest 

And seeks the streets where lights and laughter are. 

Tomorrow's morn will see him back again, 
Fishing and dreaming through another day, 

Nor taking seeming reck of efforts vain — 
Content to tread his own peculiar way. 



SUNDOWN. 



Wearing on to sundown, the day is nearly over, 

On the hills the shadow deeper grows, 
Birds have sought the tree-tops, the bees have left the 
clover, 

Moths their tryst are keeping with the rose. 

Wearing on to sundown ; the vesper bell is ringing, 
At its sound care's phantom legions flee; 

Far away the children at their play are singing 
Sweetly* some quaint old-time melody. 

Wearing on to sundown; draws night's shadow nearer, 

One by one day's voices fade and cease, 
Glorious was the dawning, but the night is fairer, 

To a weary world that longs for peace. 



59 



THE WIND IN THE PALMS. 

The trade-wind sighed in the palm-tops, 

Sibilant, sweet and low, 
A song of a nation's glory 

Faded to afterglow — 
A requiem of lost splendors 

Passing all new belief — 
Of a throne and a flag dust-trodden, 

Of a prideful people's grief. 

The trade-wind droned in the palm-tops, 

Glinting beneath the moon, 
A melody of enchantment, 

Soft as the breakers' croon. 
It sang of an easeful present, 

Lilting in lang'rous kind, 
Of rainbow-vestured Pleasure 

With mem'ry's wreaths entwined. 

The trade-wind sang in the palm-tops 

Songs that the Sleepers woke: 
A psalm of predestined greatness, 

A paean of deeds unspoke. 
It chanted of ceaseless striving, 

Of guerdon to come at last — 
Of a future of grace and goodness 

Undreamed of in the past. 

The trade-wind hymned in the palm-tops, 

Under a tropic sky, 
Of a little nation molded 

In a great one's entity; 
Of a resurrected people, 

Blending in one great head 
The virtues of all the living 

With the merits of the dead. 



60 



L'ENVOI. 

The palms are lost, the mountains melt to haze, 
The sun goes gliding dozmi the Western zvay, 

The Isles we loved — the home of perfect days, 
Are one bright yesterday. 

And we, though roving East or wand'ring West, 
When sunset bids bestir the cool night breeze, 

Shall dream of scented nights and lang'rous rest 
Over the violet seas. 

Some day, O happy Isles! again we'll fare, 
As fare the birds in springtime o'er the sea, 

Back to that land of other lands most rare — 
Back to thy charms and thee. 



61 



GLOSSARY 

(Hawaiian) 

Aloha — Love; affection; gratitude; kindness; pity; compassion; 

salution at meeting and parting. 
Aloha oe — Love to you. 

Auwe ke aloha el — An expression of affectionate emotion. 
Haleakala — House of the sun; name of extinct crater on East 

Maui. 
Haole — A white man. 
Hala — The pandanus tree. 
Hau — A tree of the hibiscus family. 
Holoholo — To go for a walk. 

Honi Tcaua wikiwiki! — Let's kiss each other quickly! 
Huapala — Sweetheart. 

Ilima — The national flower of Hawaii, yellow in color. 
Kahului — A seaport of Maui. 
Kamehameha — Kamehameha I, conqueror of the Hawaiian Islands, 

born in Kohala, Hawaii, 1736. 
Kamanl — A shade tree, also known as the Demerara almond. 
Kawa (Samoa) — A beverage. 
Kiawe — The algaroba tree. 
Kona — A district of Hawaii. 
Kona — A southwesterly storm. 
Koolau — A district or Oahu. 
Kukui — The candle-nut tree. 

Kuliouou — A place about 10 miles from Honolulu. 
Lahaina — A seaport of Maui, and once capital of the Islands. 
hanai — A verandah. 
Lauhala — The pandanus tree. 

Leahi — Diamond Head, a promontory near Honolulu. 
Lehua — A favorite native flower particularly plentiful on Hawaii. 
Lei — A wreath. 

Loulu papale — A hat made from the leaves of a native palm. 
Maile — A fragrant vine. 
Mele — A song. 

Melia — The blossom of the plumeria tree. 
Mokihana — A plant with highly-scented seed pods. 
Nei — The present place. 

Nipa (Philippines) — A native palm used for thatching purposes. 
Ohae — A flowering tree. 
Ohia — The mountain-apple tree. 
Pake — A Chinaman. 
Pali — A precipice. 

Pali — A famous viewpoint near Honolulu. 
Panini — The prickly pear. 
Pau — Finished. 

Pele — The fabled goddess of volcanoes. 
Pilikia — Trouble. 

Ukulele — A small stringed instrument. 
Waikiki — A famous beach near Honolulu. 



62 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Frontispiece — "Little Brown Maid" 

Aloha! 3 

There's Always a Girl at Home 5 

Saint Patrick's Day 6 

When Twilight Falls 6 

His Letter 7 

The Song of the Returning 8 

Overseas 9 

Good-bye 9 

'Frisco Bound 10 

Jacaranda 10 

The Purple Islands 11 

The Buccaneers 12 

The Pirates 13 

Pearl of the Sea 14 

Away 15 

Plumeria 16 

The Old Hau-Tree Lanai 17 

Melia 17 

The Kamani Tree 18 

Goldenrod 18 

Violets 19 

Nightfall 19 

The Huapala Vine 20 

The Mynah 21 

The Cocoa Palm 21 

The Dreaming Lady 22 

Kamehameha Day 23 

In Rotten Row 23 

Sea Magic 24 

Haleakala 24 

The Last Port 25 

Beneath the Moon 26 

The Gazers 27 

August 27 

The Derelict 28 

Moonlight 28 

The Lei 29 

The Day's End 29 

The Pali Road 30 

A Dull Day 30 

Lahaina 31 

Kahului Bay 31 

On the Reef 32 

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PAGE 

Kuliouou 33 

Faded Leis 33 

The Guns 34 

The Angler's Song 34 

Tarry, Brother ! 35 

Kalehua 35 

Nana 36 

Wearing On to June 37 

Hawaii Nei 37 

On the Koolau Side 38-39 

Won't You Come? 39 

Leis 40 

After the Storm 40 

Kahawanu 41, 

The Footpath 41 

A Gray Day 42 

Hawaii 43 

July 43 

Waiting For the Spring 44 

The Hillside Graves 44 

Hawaii to Jack London 45 

Kealoha 46 

A Wet Night 47 

The F-4 48 

Dawn 48 

Chinatown 49 

In the Valley 50 

Under the Cocoanut Tree 50 

The Magic Music 51 

The Way of Summer 52 

Signs 52 

In the Garden 53 

Vacation Time 54 

Little Brown Maid 55 

The Lady of the Twilight 56 

In the South Seas 57 

Tropic Morning 57 

Pilikia 58 

The Mullet Fisher 59 

Sundown 59 

The Wind in the Palms 60 

L'Envoi 61 

Glossary 62 



64 



